


To Your Witchers

by katie_elizabeth



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst and Feels, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22471777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katie_elizabeth/pseuds/katie_elizabeth
Summary: Nearly a year after leaving Jaskier behind, Geralt hears a strange song about his friend and fellow witcher, Eskel, while visiting a backwater tavern.
Relationships: Eskel & Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 239
Kudos: 2523
Collections: Geralt is Sorry, Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	1. A Strange Song

**Author's Note:**

> This series takes place about eight months after Episode 6 and features Eskel from the Witcher series. If you don't know who he is, I'd suggest watching some cut scenes from the Witcher 3 that feature him. He's like Geralt, only Responsible and Nice. >_>
> 
> (Plus he, Geralt, and another witcher named Lambert get totally turnt in the game and it's the best part of the whole thing)

Geralt is starting to regret coming to this Redanian backwater, regardless of how good the money for the job might be. The weathered bard in this decrepit tavern has just picked up a jaunty tune, grating through the verses with a voice ravaged by one too many cigars.

_"Witcher, witcher,_

_Fine and fair,_

_Took a harpy by the hair,_

_Bade her squeal and squawk no more,_

_Then said the same to maiden pure_

_But moan she did, and woke the bear_

_Her love broke in and found them there_

_Eskel knocked him down and tied him tight,_

_So she did squawk all through the night…"_

Geralt does his best to block out the bard's wretched squalling at first, but the final two lines catch his ear. A song about Eskel? Not only that, a song about Eskel's _exploits_?

He's been friends with Eskel since their childhood together at Kaer Morhen, and yet has never once known him to brag about bedding maidens, let alone betrothed maidens. In fact, the only witcher Geralt has ever heard memorialized in song is he himself, and that's because…

"Ay!" a drunk patron yells, throwing an empty tankard at the bard, which he clumsily dodges. "You jus' ripped that 'un off from that pansy bard who was in here yesterday!"

Maybe that's his cue to go find whoever posted that contract, Geralt thinks, knocking back his pint and pushing out past the cursing bard.

~

Geralt's inquiries point him towards the cottage of one Aleksy, a local rancher. When he knocks on the door, it's opened by a harried-looking woman with a screaming toddler on each hip. "Oh lord. Aleksy! There's another one at the door!"

"Well, let him in, woman!" a man barks from within. "This is a two-man job if I ever seen 'un!"

Geralt pushes past the exasperated woman to find a grizzled old man standing across from a familiar dark-haired witcher. The left half of the witcher's face is crossed by half a dozen deep scars, a reminder of a grisly old wound, but his eyes are warm.

"Geralt," Eskel says, looking him over. "Been a while since you graced me with your sunny disposition."

"It’s been too long," Geralt agrees, companionably grasping his forearm. "Good to see you, Eskel. Seems you beat me to this one."

"No, witcher!" Aleksy breaks in, waving his hands about. "I'll hire ya both if it gets the job done faster!"

"Got a forktail problem," Eskel elaborates, tipping his head towards the old man. "A breeding pair living up in the mountain and eating his sheep. He got a spear in the male last time so I should be able to track it, but I was just saying I'm getting too old to take on a whole nest of forktails by myself."

"Losing your touch, then," Geralt chuckles, eying Aleksy. "500 gold for each of us. Half upfront. Tracking it up the mountain will be a long job."

"Yes, yes, whatever will make sure that the whole nest is dead come next week."

"Deal," Geralt agrees, shaking his hand and taking their coin purses. Outside, he throws a glance in Eskel's direction. "Heard a strange song about you in the tavern just now."

Eskel glances around the perimeter of the cottage, looking ill at ease. "Geralt, I should probably tell you--"

A melodious voice suddenly breaks the afternoon air. Someone is tramping towards them through the loose leaves around the side of the house, strumming a lute. " _Struck him down with his blade of silver, then_ \-- Eskel? What rhymes with silver? I don't think--"

Jaskier rounds the corner to find Geralt glowering silently at the ground. His lute twangs discordantly and he stops dead, mouth working silently.

"Nothing rhymes with silver, Jaskier," Eskel finally replies after far too long, grimacing sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Ah, right you are. Yes." Jaskier swallows thickly, throat clicking. "Right. Well, I will wait for you by the horses then."

He spins on his heel and goes back the way he came, clenching his lute by the neck like a club. Eskel sighs and rubs a hand over his face.

"I guess it's not too late to back out of this contract. I--"

"I'll meet you at dawn to start the hunt," Geralt abruptly cuts in, shoving Eskel's cut of the money at his chest and pulling Roach away by the bridle before he can finish.


	2. The Intermediary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eskel's pretty sure he never signed up to be the mediator of this situation, but here he is.

When Eskel returns to find Jaskier's horse gone, he doesn't expect to see him again until after the hunt. But when Eskel rides into the copse of trees where they’ve set up camp, he finds Jaskier sitting with his back against a stump and staring blankly into the middle distance, his eyes red.

"Hey bud," Eskel says, ruffling Jaskier's hair and sitting alongside him. "I'm sorry. You okay?"

Jaskier snaps to with a start. "What? Oh, sure, nothing's wrong. Just, um… working on my rhyme."

Eskel sighs. "I may be dumb, but I'm not blind, Jaskier. You two were a package deal for going on two decades. As much as I enjoy your company, I know you're not here because you wanted a change of scenery."

"I like traveling with you," Jaskier says, absently taking the hand Eskel lays on his shoulder. Eskel smiles, scars crinkling.

They sit in silence for a few minutes before Eskel tries again. "Look, I know Geralt can be a prick, but he usually doesn't mean to be."

"Oh, he meant what he said this time," Jaskier murmurs, voice hollow, then shakes his head as if throwing off a train of thought. He plasters on a smile. "Nevermind. Just a disagreement between friends."

"All right," Eskel relents, squeezing his shoulder before pushing himself off the stump with a grunt. "I'm going into town for a while, okay?"

He stops halfway to his horse and looks back over his shoulder. "You know you don't have to come with us, right? You could stay at the inn in town. I'll come back and get you afterward."

"And miss my chance to write an epic ballad about your hunt? Wouldn't dream of it," Jaskier replies, attempting a smile. It hurts to watch and, not for the first time, Eskel finds himself hating Geralt just a little bit.

~

Eskel finds Geralt sitting in the back corner of the tavern, three empty tankards on the table in front of him. The weathered bard is awkwardly loitering about, his pockets jingling.

Eskel raises his eyebrows at Geralt, who shrugs. "What? I paid him to shut up for an hour."

"Tactful as always," Eskel chuckles, taking a seat across from him and prying Geralt's half-empty tankard from his hand. "Mind telling me what that was all about?"

"Hmm. Don't recall it being any of your business."

"It's my business when I'm the one who has to deal with the fallout. If I've learned anything from listening to your other former lovers, you probably--"

"We weren't lovers," Geralt growls, snatching back his tankard.

"Well, it sure seems like you were _something_ , Geralt."

"It wasn't… serious."

"Ah, that explains it. Remember when we were boys at Kaer Morhen and you took a shine to Lambert for some god-forsaken reason? So you pushed him down into the mud and refused to speak to him for 13 days?"

Geralt grimaces. "Can we not discuss that?"

"I'm just saying, Geralt, you have a history of self-sabotage. Lord knows I'm not going to be the one to help you work through your commitment issues, but, please… Just leave him be. He's been a good friend to me."

Geralt's eyes are dark. "A friend?"

"Why does it matter to you what he is to me?"

Geralt looks away, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

"Exactly. I'm serious, Geralt. Don't get his hopes up. He's already hurting enough. Now, can we at least have a drink or two together like old friends?"

Geralt's eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. "I think I'll drink alone tonight."

"Suit yourself then, you stubborn bull," Eskel snorts, standing and clapping Geralt on the back. "See you tomorrow."

~

When he and Eskel round the corner at dawn the next day to find Geralt waiting there, Jaskier's stomach clenches sickly despite his best efforts. Was his hair always so silver? Jaskier had forgotten the breadth of his bare forearms. Oh gods, was this how maidens felt seeing him again following a breakup? From now on he'd leave girls in only the most gallant of ways, with flowers and forlorn serenades and--

Eskel is talking to him. "What?"

"I said we'll need to track this thing on foot. You up for the hike?"

"Oh sure, I love hiking," Jaskier replies, barely listening. "If you stare at the ground any harder, Geralt, you'll start a brush fire."

Eskel sighs behind him, but Jaskier can't bring himself to care. Because when Geralt flares his nostrils in response, silent, it somehow feels like a victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments! They fueled me getting this next chapter out quickly.


	3. Mud Puddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt regrets few things in life, but today, he relives two of them.

They track the forktail for six hours before the sparse blood trail runs dry.

"Fuck," Geralt grunts, kicking over a log. "Wound must've finally clotted. We'll have to canvas the area and hope it landed somewhere nearby."

"Seems so," Eskel sighs.

Suddenly, Jaskier's voice filters through the trees. "Eskel! ESKEL!"

Geralt's sprinting before Eskel can even look up from the ground, crashing through the underbrush with his sword drawn. Jaskier is kneeling by a small boulder embedded in the forest floor, and he falls backwards with a yelp when Geralt flies into the clearing. "Christ, Geralt! Overreaction much?"

Geralt watches as Jaskier's eyes slide past him to fix on Eskel. The way they light up at the sight of him tightens Geralt's chest like a vice. "Eskel! Look what I found!"

A series of perfectly round blood spatters are stippled across the top of the boulder. Eskel smiles and curls an arm around Jaskier's waist, helping him to his feet. "Good catch!"

The grunt that leaves Geralt's chest is mostly involuntary, but Eskel shoots him a look anyway, daring him to say something. Geralt opens his mouth, closes it, then goes to inspect the perimeter of the clearing. A black cloud has settled over the edges of his vision.

"More over here," he says, spotting a splotch of red and pushing forward into the undergrowth without waiting for their acknowledgement.

~

When the light becomes too dim to continue following the trail, they stop to set up camp near a small stream.

"Where's the third tent?" Geralt asks once the first two are pitched, impatiently hunting through the saddlebags. After rummaging around for several minutes, something finally occurs to him. He turns around slowly to find Eskel looking at him silently, mouth twisted in a grimace.

Jaskier is sitting on the ground near Eskel's feet with his lute in his lap, eyes glittering. He casually wraps a hand around Eskel's knee, giving a single demure laugh. "Well, no need to make it awkward, Geralt."

"I'm… going to collect some firewood," Geralt announces apropos of nothing, his voice strangled. The blackness has settled over him again, so he doesn't see the way Eskel rolls his eyes and thumps Jaskier in the back of the head.

~

Eskel is spear-fishing in the stream, submerged up to his calves in the meandering water. Jaskier is nearby, washing mud from his tunic and whistling a tune. The golden evening sunlight catches in his hair, transforming it into a soft brown halo. Geralt can just see both of them through the opening of his tent from where he's lying.

Jaskier stands and turns to leave, but his boot has sunk into the thick mud lining the banks. "Shit!" He falls to one knee, splashing into the water with a dismayed groan.

"Eskel, don't just stand there guffawing! Help me!" he whines, struggling to extricate himself. Eskel just chortles harder, doubling over.

"You ass!" Jaskier grunts, picking up a handful of mud and flinging it in Eskel's direction. It hits him square in the chest and Eskel gasps, throwing his spear onto the bank.

"Oh no. No! No! Eskel!" Jaskier cries, abandoning his boot and wriggling away. He's laughing too now as Eskel comes after him, effortlessly throwing him back into the water. "You absolute ass!" Jaskier reiterates, surfacing with a gasp. He shakes Eskel by the knees, as if he were a tree, in a feeble attempt to topple him.

Geralt watches them roughhouse for a few more minutes, not sure what to call the feeling rising in his throat. He keeps expecting them to fall together in a mess of limbs, to kiss each other. He wants to go lift Jaskier from the mud and clean him up, listen to him laugh, plop him down in front of the fire.

Instead, he closes the tent flap and rolls over. 

~

That night, Geralt dreams that he's at Kaer Morhen again, just a boy. Lambert is telling him that he likes him, that they should be friends. Geralt knows what's coming next, but is only able to watch as the younger version of himself blushes and pushes Lambert backwards into a mud puddle, flustered. Lambert would never admit it today, but Geralt knows he cried before running off to tell Vesemir what Geralt did.

Suddenly, he's on a familiar mountainside and Jaskier is in front of him-- Jaskier, trim in his fine red suit, hair tousled by the wind. Anger and disappointment are pulsing within Geralt's chest, and before he can stop himself he's shoving Jaskier to the ground, into the mud puddle, off of the cliff.

Geralt awakens with a start, drenched in a cold sweat. Shame and regret prickle at his throat. He peers out through the flap of his tent at the larger tent just outside, imagines them lying there together, imagines what Jaskier's expression must have been when Geralt turned away from him on the mountainside all those months ago. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so Grammarly keeps telling me my tone is "Sad." I feel attacked tbh


	4. The Approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier gets himself in trouble. Eskel and Jaskier test the waters. Geralt is angry™.

"Did this damn thing need to nest so far up in the mountains?" Eskel grunts, trudging laboriously over an outcropping of rock. The forest around them is shot through with evergreens now, a sign of the increasing altitude.

"Shouldn't be far now." A few miles back, they'd found a break in the trees where the undergrowth had been thoroughly flattened; in the middle of it was a bent spearhead covered in dried spit and blood. Seems the forktail had grown tired of flying with a thorn in its side. Luckily for them, when it removed the spearhead the blood trail had started anew.

"Well if you two don't mind pausing for a moment, I've got important business to attend to," Jaskier announces, leaning his lute against a tree and gingerly picking his way into the bushes.

"I've never met a man with more euphemisms for taking a piss," Eskel muses. Geralt huffs, inexplicably angry that he'd never noticed this, and therefore wasn't the first one to make the observation.

"Guys? I think there's something-- AGH! What the ever-loving-- GERALTTT! GERALT KILL IT KILL IT--"

Jaskier comes bolting into the clearing, shouting gibberish. Something low to the ground and chitinous skitters out of the undergrowth, hot on his heels. The thing-- it's a giant centipede, Geralt realizes, sword already arcing down towards its thick carapace-- opens its massive mandibles and catches Jaskier by the heel. Geralt's sword pins the centipede to the ground just in time to stop it from overtaking him, but Jaskier is already falling, yelping in pain.

Eskel catches him with one arm before he can hit the ground, swinging his sword around with the other to lop the thing's head off. All of them are spattered with sticky black ichor as the head rolls away into the bushes.

"That thing _bit me!_ " Jaskier yells, indignant. "It just burrowed out of the ground and-- OW! OW! Why is it _burning?_ "

"Juvenile giant centipede," Eskel says, setting Jaskier down on the ground. He lifts Jaskier's pant leg, inspecting the small, bleeding wound. "Its venom won't kill you, but it'll still hurt like a bitch for a while."

"Gods, why does this always happen to me-- OW! MAKE IT STOP, PLEASE, ONE OF YOU!"

"Move," Geralt growls, shouldering Eskel out of the way. He digs into his pack for his waterskin and cleans the wound, ignoring Jaskier's yips of protest.

"Here's a poultice that will help with the pain," Eskel says, pulling a vial out from the saddlebags and opening it. Geralt snatches it out of his hand and gently applies the paste to the lacerations, before bandaging him up with a strip of cloth. He wraps his hand around Jaskier's slim ankle to apply pressure, arm going instinctually around his shoulders to support him as he trembles. 

Jaskier looks up at him, pupils blown wide with pain. "Geralt?"

"You'll be fine," Geralt confirms, squeezing his ankle tighter. "Just two small cuts. The pain will pass."

Five minutes later, Jaskier pants and lurches forward, laying his hands on the ground. "Okay... It's going away now. Why must I travel with witchers?"

"Fame and fortune?" Geralt wryly replies, releasing his ankle. "Doesn't help that you're a child when it comes to pain."

Jaskier looks at him sourly, pushing himself to his feet with a grunt. Geralt realizes, belatedly, that they aren't exactly on joking terms. "I didn't--"

"Don't be an ass," Jaskier snaps, grabbing his lute case. "Thanks for catching me, Eskel. Now can we please get going before this wretched carcass starts to smell any worse?"

"A valiant effort, if misguided," Eskel says once Jaskier is gone, patting Geralt's back in commiseration. Geralt snarls at him, pulling his blackened sword out from the centipede's innards.

~

In their tent that evening, Jaskier lays his head back against Eskel's thigh and sighs deeply. "He was joking, wasn't he? I hate this. I don't understand him."

"Maybe you should go talk to him."

"No way," Jaskier emphatically replies. "He doesn't deserve that."

Eskel hums in agreement. "I'm sure. What did he do, anyway?"

"Well, during our dragon hunt I suggested he come away with me for a while. So instead, he fucked Yennefer, got into a fight with her, and yelled at me quite sincerely that he wished life would take me off his hands."

"I'm going to kick his ass," Eskel says, mild.

"Won't do any good," Jaskier mumbles, cursing when his eyes go misty. "I loved him, you know? I loved him for twenty years and he threw me away like yesterday's rubbish."

"I'm sorry."

They're silent for a while. "Sometimes I wish I were with you, Eskel."

"You are with me. We've been traveling together for seven months."

"You know what I mean, smartass. _With_ you."

"Well, I won't pretend I haven't thought about that too."

Jaskier pushes himself up onto his elbows, startled by his directness. "Wait, you're serious?"

"Well, sure. I've always considered myself a ladies' man but… I enjoy having you around."

"Oh." Jaskier looks at him silently for a few moments, studying his face, wondering suddenly what it would be like to kiss him. Finally, he sits up fully, laying a hand on his knee.

"Kiss me?" Jaskier says, equal parts question and request, and Eskel does, curving a broad hand around the nape of his neck. It's warm, and sweet, so Jaskier reaches up to run his fingers along the ridges of Eskel's scars. After a few long moments, the hand on his neck shifts to his shoulder, gently pushing him back.

"Jaskier. Are you doing this because you want to, or because you miss Geralt?"

Jaskier opens his mouth to reply, then hesitates. "I… I don't know, I guess. It was nice. I'm sorry. How did you feel about it?"

"I don't know either," Eskel replies, smiling. "Not much like kissing a lady. It was nice. But I also don't think you're ready to give up on Geralt."

"Why are you always right," Jaskier sulkily grumbles. "Anyway, can we kiss some more as friends?"

Eskel laughs. "You should go to sleep. If we finish the hunt and you still want to travel with me, we can talk about it again."

"What, a man can't kiss his friends to blow off some steam?" Jaskier jokingly huffs, kicking his boots off and laying down on his bedroll.

"Fine," Eskel sighs, kissing his forehead, his mouth. "Goodnight, Jaskier."

~

The campfire is beginning to die down, and Geralt doesn't have the will to stoke it. His eyes are fixed on Jaskier and Eskel's tent, which has been dark and silent for some time. They'd been up talking for a long while tonight, laughing and murmuring too low to hear.

The thought of them sharing a bed together makes his stomach roil. It should be Geralt in there, tending to his wound, picking dried ichor out of his hair, joking about how clumsy he is, how unlucky. He wants to be the one Jaskier looks to when he's in pain, when he's afraid, when his eyes are dancing in laughter. And he took that for granted until he was no longer that person.

Geralt stands up and walks decisively towards the tent. He doesn't know what he's doing, what'll he'll do when he finds them in there together, but--

He throws back the tent flap and finds Jaskier asleep on his bedroll, curled up on his side as usual. His hair is endearingly tousled, but his face looks pinched even in sleep, discontented. Eskel is asleep on the other side of the tent. They aren't unclothed, aren't touching, aren't even facing each other. Nothing.

Geralt hesitates, suddenly feeling foolish. He steps back outside, giving Jaskier's sleeping face one more long look before closing the tent again.

Once he's gone, Eskel cracks an eye open and sighs, shaking his head in exasperation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bruh, it was so hard to find a monster in the Witcher 3 that could attack Jaskier without immediately decimating him


	5. Wreckage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eskel finally confronts Geralt. Jaskier's resolve wavers. Geralt and Eskel fight the forktails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment your thoughts if you like c:

Well before sunrise the next morning, Eskel corners Geralt while he's brushing Roach. "I've changed my mind, Geralt. Stop leaving him be. Go wake him up right now."

Geralt glances over at him, grunts, and goes back to combing Roach's mane. "Why? Seems like he's moved on."

"Moved on? Have we been looking at the same bard? He's barely coping."

"Seemed to be coping okay yesterday when you two were messing around in the stream," Geralt mutters. He can tell Eskel is beginning to lose his temper--a rare event for the level-headed witcher--and feels bitter anger rise within himself to match. He pulls a knot out from Roach's mane with a bit too much force, earning himself a reproachful snort. 

"I swear you are as stubborn as an ox and twice as dense. The great Geralt of Rivia, jealous? Well, if jealousy is your catalyst, maybe you'll find the courage to speak to him when you find out that I kissed him last night--"

Eskel catches Geralt's right hook before it can reach his jaw, eyes glittering darkly. "Ah, there we go; that lit the spark. Well, your jealousy is wasted. No one is holding you back but yourself. I'm not even convinced that I _could_ be with a man. But even if I could, he wants _you,_ Geralt. Still."

Eskel drops Geralt's fist, shaking his hand to dispel the sting of the impact. "I won't spit in the face of Destiny by getting in between you two. But you did a terrible thing to him, and if you don't fix it soon, you may well lose him. So think about that, and leave me out of it."

Geralt doesn't turn to watch him stalk away, just lays his head down on Roach's flank and waits for the sun to rise.

~

By the time Jaskier emerges into the dawn sunlight, yawning widely, Geralt and Eskel have settled back into companionable silence over a deck of cards.

"Ah, Gwent," Jaskier mumbles, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "The inscrutable game."

"You've never played?" Geralt asks after a long moment of silence, staring rigidly down at his hand of cards. Jaskier, stunned at being addressed directly, doesn't even process the question at first.

"Well, I-- uh… no," Jaskier finally huffs, fumbling for an acceptable answer. "You never taught me."

Eskel glares at Geralt from under his eyelashes until Geralt notices, until Geralt finally turns to look at Jaskier. "Come here, then."

Jaskier squirms under the weight of those yellow eyes, a little lost. After an awkward beat of silence, Geralt sighs and scoots over to make room on the stump he's seated upon. "Well? Come here and I'll teach you."

Jaskier hesitates before perching next to him. Sitting so close to the witcher is an almost unbearable tug-of-war: a battle between his unspoken hurt and his desire to sink back into the comfortable sharing of space, his desire to touch Geralt in the carefree way he did before. "Teach me your ways, oh wise ones."

When their thighs touch midway through Geralt's lengthy explanation, it hits them both like a punch to the gut. Jaskier hides the noise that rises from his throat behind a cough.

"Well, I think I'll go prepare our supplies," Eskel says. He stares Geralt in the eyes just long enough to make him uncomfortable, then swivels and does the same to Jaskier. Jaskier's eye twitches. "Keep on playing."

"Okay, well, that was strange," Jaskier observes once Eskel has left, eyebrows pinched together. "That was strange, yes?"

Something squirms in his stomach when Geralt huffs a laugh in response. "Hmm. Eskel can be that way."

"Right," Jaskier says, glancing at Geralt from the corner of his eye. The witcher looks like he's passing a kidney stone. "Well, I guess I'll just move over--"

Geralt catches his wrist before he can fully stand. Jaskier's heart is suddenly in his throat, beating a mile a minute. He fixes his gaze on a wildflower between his feet, tries to keep it together.

"It's easier to teach if you're over here."

"I… I don't…" Jaskier swallows, hard. "You hurt me more than I can say, Geralt; you know that?"

Geralt loosens his grasp, surprised. "I know. I--"

"Then don’t take advantage of my weakness."

Jaskier pulls away and leaves before his will can crumble, before Geralt successfully coaxes him into forgetting his pain without so much as an apology.

~ 

They leave the horses tethered and make the final approach on foot, trudging through a landscape of tumbled stone and sparse evergreens. The path is clear now; the beast appears to have made this leg of the trek mostly on foot. They soon come upon a crystal-clear clear pool of water nestled at the bottom of a rocky cliff face. The path skirting the cliff and switch-backing towards the top is steep and scattered with gravel.

"There," Eskel murmurs, tilting his head towards a dark cave opening just visible above the ledge. "Jaskier, stay here."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Jaskier whispers, slinking over to sit against the nearest large boulder.

Geralt takes a vial out of his pocket and pulls the cork out with his teeth. He downs half of the shimmering dark liquid inside, grimacing, then hands the rest to Eskel. In a grisly transition, their complexions turn deathly pale, eyes going inky black from corner to corner. They grasp forearms briefly, then turn to go.

A sick feeling of premonition hits Jaskier low in the gut. There are suddenly a million things he wants to say. He wants to tell them to be careful, to come back to him unharmed. He wants to thank Eskel for being so kind to him, wants to open his chest and show Geralt what he's done. But instead, he silently raises a hand in farewell as they race up the treacherous slope.

The first inhuman roar of rage comes barely a minute later, seeming to shake the very ground beneath him. Small rocks rain down off the cliff face and splash into the water below. Jaskier clenches his teeth, imagines them coming back down the slope a few minutes later, unharmed, a forktail's head dragging behind them. His heartbeat has become a rattling staccato in his chest.

Ten agonizing minutes later, Jaskier is sure something has gone wrong. Urgent human shouts have joined the chorus of shrieking forktails. How many are in there? Jaskier tries to count the individual bestial voices-- four, five--

Jaskier has just started up the slope, not knowing what to do but also unable to stay still any longer, when Eskel and Geralt finally appear on the ledge high above. Geralt is clinging to the male forktail's back, struggling to find purchase on its slick scales. Eskel feints left and swings around to lop off the beast's front leg just above the elbow, dousing himself in blood. Just then, Geralt finds his footing at last and sinks his sword into its neck, baring his teeth in victory.

The beast shrieks, staggers, and in a last fit of malevolent rage, throws itself off the cliff-- and Jaskier can only watch, helpless, as it brings Eskel and Geralt down with it.


	6. The Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer saves the day and resists the urge to drop-kick Jaskier.

Water shot through with maroon streamers of blood splashes up from the pool in a great torrent as the forktail makes impact, drenching Jaskier where he stands watching helplessly on the slope.

"Geralt! Eskel!"

Jaskier stumbles down the slope, tearing his knees open on the rough stones. By the time he's righted himself, Eskel is already staggering up onto the bank. He's got Geralt by the strap of his breastplate and is dragging him up onto the gravel, grunting with the effort.

"Oh, gods! Is he alive?"

Jaskier runs down to the edge of the pool. Something is snarling terribly, and he looks around in terror until he realizes that the sound is coming from Geralt.

"Fucking thing got me with its tail on the way down," Geralt hisses, baring his teeth. He's clutching his leg in his hands, black eyes half-closed with pain.

Jaskier pushes past Eskel and kneels beside him, finally getting a good look. He raises a hand to his mouth at the sight, the world lurching sickly beneath him. Geralt's thigh has been impaled by two feet of a thick, bony spine. It must have pierced him clean through and broken off during the impact, Jaskier thinks, and retches. Blood oozes up around the barb, soaking Geralt's armor and the ground beneath him in a matter of seconds. Jaskier's seen Geralt injured-- dozens of times, in fact-- but never like this. 

"Shit." Eskel pulls off his armor and throws his breastplate to the ground. He retrieves his dagger from its sheath and hacks through one of the long leather straps. "Jaskier. Go get the horses."

"No," Geralt growls, breathing hard through his nose as Eskel cinches the makeshift tourniquet around his thigh. "It's a two day ride back to town and I can't very well ride a fucking horse. Jaskier, there's a hand mirror in my bag. Find it and tap on it twice."

"Mirror-- two times-- okay!" Jaskier lurches to his feet and sprints off into the woods. He falls twice more on the treacherous path, once hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs. But despite the blood now running freely down his legs, he gets back up and continues to run.

He's not even sure how to get back to the campsite, but by some divine providence, his feet take him there. Roach whinnies in alarm when he approaches at a sprint, panting hard. "It's okay, girl, I just need-- mirror, mirror, where the fuck--!"

It's buried at the bottom of the saddlebag under a pile of dirty clothes. Jaskier holds up the small silver mirror and knocks twice on its surface; it doesn't even occur to him that he has no idea what he's doing or why.

The surface of the mirror goes opaque for a moment before the image of an unfamiliar boudoir suddenly shimmers into being. A familiar female voice echoes from somewhere out of view. "Are you serious, Geralt? After all this time? If you meant to contact Vesemir again, I swear--"

The view lurches nauseatingly until it finally centers upon Yennefer's surprised face. "Oh, lovely. Jaskier."

"Yennefer," he gasps, out of breath. "Please, you have to help us. Geralt is seriously hurt."

A crease forms between her eyebrows. "I'll be there in just a moment."

A few seconds later, a glimmering portal springs into being across the clearing.

~

"Lord," she says, looking down at Geralt. His eyes are gradually shifting back to their normal shade of yellow, but his complexion is still deathly pale. "Picked the wrong fight, I see."

"We need to get him back to town," Eskel cuts in. He's down on his knees next to Geralt with a couple of rags, applying pressure to the wounds as well as he can around the spine. "Can you make a portal?"

"Yes. But I need to stop the bleeding first. Move over. This is going to hurt like hell, Geralt."

"Just do it!" Geralt demands, sharp canines bared. Jaskier sits down next to him and smooths his hand over his forehead, panicked tears blurring his eyes despite his best efforts.

Geralt's gaze catches on Jaskier's bloodied shins as Yennefer squats down and removes the rags. "You're bleeding. Are you hurt? Eskel, help him!"

"I'm fine, Geralt! You don't need to worry about me right now."

"You might want to hold onto something, Geralt," Yennefer suggests, pressing her glowing hands down onto the skin around the barb. "Stay still or I might burn you."

Geralt throws his head back, teeth clenched, and reaches for Jaskier. Jaskier takes his hand without a thought, squeezing back against the witcher's vice-like grip. The skin around the spine sizzles, cauterizing the wounds.

"You have to stand now," Yennefer says, and Geralt does, grasping her arm as they lurch through her portal together. 

~

Yennefer finds Jaskier sitting alone in the balcony of the tavern. The spot (coincidentally, she's sure) has a convenient view of the table where Geralt and Eskel are playing Gwent. Geralt's bandaged leg is propped up onto the bench next to him.

"Yennefer," Jaskier acknowledges, lips pursing.

Yennefer sits down next to him, looking out over the tavern-goers. "You know, it's bad form to sass the woman who saved you and your lover's lives on more than one occasion."

"Fair enough. But I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that we aren't lovers now, or ever. Geralt is yours for the taking."

Yennefer scoffs. "Don't want him."

Jaskier looks at her skeptically. "Why?"

"Well, for one, I don't like sharing," Yennefer replies, ticking the reasons off on her fingers, "and I'd always be sharing him with you. Two, who knows if what drew us together was real, or just the djinn's power? Three--"

"Wait, wait, back up to number one. Sharing him with me? He told me in no uncertain terms that he doesn't want me around anymore."

"Jaskier, have you ever known him to give another human being the time of day?"

"Well, no, but--"

"Has he ever left you in the middle of the night with nary a word?"

"Well, no, but once he was gone all morning and--"

"Has he ever disappeared for months at a time without even telling you where he's going?"

"Well, no, but--"

"Can you imagine him ever letting another soul bathe him, touch his horse, share his bedroll, write songs about him, and follow him all over this godforsaken continent?"

"Well, no, but--"

"Then why are you two letting one angry outburst define reality?" Yennefer demands, exasperated. "I saw him five times in as many years. Eskel is the closest thing he has to a real friend as far as I can tell, and this is the first time they've run into each other in nearly a decade. He kept you with him almost continuously for twenty years, and when you weren't together, he kept tabs on you. He left me every time we met to return to you. And now you're sitting around sulking, wondering if he cares about you, as if you don't have twenty years of history binding you together! I absolutely cannot stand watching you two fools brood over each other for another moment."

Jaskier blinks. "So you're... _not_ going to sleep with him, then?"

"You're an idiot." Yennefer stands. "I'm leaving now. If I get called here again and you two haven't reconciled, I'm hexing you both."

Jaskier turns to protest, but she's already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> keep them sweet comments coming, i live for your angst C:


	7. Imbibing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier gets drunk, and also gets taken care of.

Jaskier sings at the tavern that night, usurping the weathered bard. He apparently makes good money, at least enough for a few ales. Or seven. Geralt has been counting.

The tavern-goers are just eating Jaskier up, even now that he's stopped playing. His eyes start to go hazy, his laugh getting louder as the night wears on. Finally, when he spills half a beer down his front, Geralt gets up and goes over to him.

Jaskier's got a giggling girl on each knee, both of them awestruck by whatever overblown story he's telling. The ladies notice Geralt's approach, eyes widening, and promptly vacate Jaskier's lap. Jaskier looks up at him, double-taking comically. "You scared them away, you brute." His eyebrows pinch together. "Why are you standing? You jus' got stabbed through the leg!"

"And you just spilled half an ale down yourself."

Jaskier looks down at himself, surprised, and tugs forlornly at his wet doublet. "Oh."

"Why don't I get you up to bed."

"I s'pose." Jaskier sniffs, trying to be haughty about it. The act is somewhat dampened by him losing his balance while attempting to stand up.

Geralt catches his arm and picks up his lute. "Easy there."

"Really, Geralt, your..." He hiccups and wraps an unsteady arm around his waist as they reach the stairs. "Your leg. I'll help you."

"I think you're the one who needs help," Geralt sighs, chuckling.

Jaskier looks up at him, wide-eyed. "I like it when you laugh."

Something warm unfurls in Geralt's chest. "I like it when you laugh, too."

The bedroom door bangs back against the wall as Jaskier flings it open gracelessly and stumbles inside. He makes a noise in the back of his throat. "I thought you didn't want me around. You said that, remember? Why're you lying?"

"I'm not lying. But we shouldn't talk about that while you're drunk."

"Fine," Jaskier grumbles, flopping back on the bed. His chemise has hiked up and his hair is mussed. "Don't you want to go to your room?"

"Do you want me to?"

"No," Jaskier murmurs, averting his eyes. "I never want you to go."

The warmth in Geralt's chest morphs into an ache. He suddenly wants to touch him, wants to push his loose hair back off his forehead, but he restrains himself. "I'll bring up some water for a bath. You'll be sticky in the morning."

"But Geralt," Jaskier whines, touching his knee with his fingertips, "your _leg."_

"Witchers are durable."

"You're impossible," Jaskier grunts, burying his face into his pillow.

Geralt retrieves the water bucket by bucket, filling the wooden basin. Once it's full, Geralt goes over to the bed and nudges Jaskier, who squints up at him. "Bath's ready." 

"Okay." Jaskier tries to take off his chemise but gets tangled in the frills, looking lost. "M' stuck."

"I see that." He chuckles again when Jaskier just sits there, arms at odd angles. "All right, hold on."

Geralt undoes the buttons and helps him detangle himself. "Pants, now. You can do those yourself."

"Stick in the mud," Jaskier grumbles, unlacing his breeches. Again, Geralt has an unusually strong, if not unfamiliar, urge to touch him. 

"Turn around!" Jaskier squawks once he's down to his small clothes, throwing his pants in Geralt's general direction. Geralt rolls his eyes and faces the wall.

"You know I've seen you naked about a hundred times, Jaskier."

 _"You know I've seen you naked about a hundred times, Jaskier,"_ he parrots back in an infuriatingly good impression of Geralt's voice. "Okay, I'm in."

The tub has filled with bubbles, somehow, and Jaskier is submerged up to his chin, looking pleased with himself. "Gonna join me?"

"Can't get the bandages wet."

_"Can't get the bandages wet."_

"I swear, I will drown you if you keep doing that."

Jaskier flicks a glob of bubbles at him and blows a raspberry. "You're no fun."

"So you've told me."

Jaskier haphazardly soaps up, whistling a tune off-key. He kicks his legs up on the edge of the tub when he's finished, revealing his badly scraped shins and knees.

Geralt winces and rifles around in Jaskier's bag for the remains of Eskel's poultice. "Here, let me put this on those cuts."

"Thanks for taking care of me even though you're the one who got stabbed through the leg." He's looking down at Geralt's fingers where they're gently moving across his wounds. A soapy hand reaches up from beneath the water and entwines with Geralt's, stilling him. "You… I… I forgive you, Geralt." 

Geralt's stomach drops. Jaskier's eyes are so earnest, so drunk, and Geralt can't stand being this close to him. "Don't say that. I haven't done anything to earn it."

Jaskier sits up in the tub, soapy hand shifting to Geralt's forearm. "Fine. Can I say I want to kiss you?"

Geralt reaches up to wipe a clump of soap suds off his chin, feeling fond. Those cornflower blue eyes follow his, rapt. Gods, he wants to kiss him, more than he's ever wanted to kiss anyone, maybe, but he only allows himself to skim a thumb across his bottom lip. "You can say it. But sober Jaskier might feel differently. It's time for bed."

"Oh, fine," Jaskier sighs, pouting a little. Water sloshes into Geralt's lap as Jaskier gracelessly lurches out of the tub and fumbles through his things for his nightclothes.

The bed groans in protest when Jaskier finally throws himself onto it. He burrows into the covers and regards Geralt from their depths, eyes glowing in the firelight. "Can you… at least stay here for a while?"

Geralt hesitates, then strips off his wet pants. "Okay."

He lies down on his back next to Jaskier and loosens up despite himself when the bard nuzzles up against him like an affectionate cat. His voice is small. "I miss you, Geralt. I wish you wanted me."

A wave of self-loathing ripples over him from head to toe, but by the time he's worked out what he needs to say, Jaskier is already asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the nice comments!


	8. Things Wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier and Geralt work out what they want.

When Geralt wakes up, Jaskier is gone and so are all of his things. The early-morning sunlight filters in through the drapes, catching the dust motes drifting lazily about the empty room. His thigh aches terribly-- he really did overexert it last night-- but he staggers to his feet anyway. He pulls on yesterday's clothes with a knot in his throat and goes down into the tavern. A wave of relief washes over him when he finds Eskel sitting at the bar, working through a breakfast of eggs and bread.

"Eskel. Where's Jaskier?"

Eskel nods his head towards the door. "Outside getting the horses packed."

He looks at Geralt long and hard before smacking him on the back, apparently satisfied by what he finds. "I reckon this is your last chance, old friend. Make it count." 

"Hmm."

Outside, the sun is warm and low in the sky. Eskel and Jaskier's horses are tethered in the field next to the stables, grazing on wildflowers as Jaskier cinches their saddlebags. Geralt's eyes catch on the soft curl of his hair, and he stops in his tracks as if caught by a snare. The old anxieties prickle beneath his skin, insisting that Jaskier doesn’t want him around; nobody wants him around for very long. Nobody wants him, and he wants nobody.

Except that he does. Geralt shakes himself free and goes to him, leaving the rest to Destiny.

~

Jaskier hears the familiar sound of Geralt's footsteps approaching and tenses, a flush rising up his neck. Oh gods, he'd made such a fool of himself. He half-wishes that Geralt had just slipped away without saying goodbye. Now, instead, he'll be forced to bite back his shame and longing while Geralt underscores the fact that they aren't friends, aren't lovers.

"Jaskier. Can we… Can we talk?"

He's never heard Geralt sound so uncertain before. Jaskier's throat, heart, and stomach all clench in tandem when he turns around. He's standing there in the same clothes he wore yesterday, barely awake, silver hair a tangled mess. Jaskier regrets not touching him when he had the chance, when the witcher was still peacefully asleep next to him.

Geralt looks at him for a solid thirty seconds, obviously struggling to put his thoughts into words. Jaskier wants to fill the silence, as usual, but his throat feels as if it's full of glue. And he's still angry beneath it all, damn it-- angry and hurt-- and some vindictive part of him doesn't want to make this parting of ways any easier for Geralt.

Roach whinnies testily from inside the stables, expecting her breakfast. The sound seems to break Geralt from his stasis and he rubs a hand over his face, yellow eyes settling upon Jaskier's own. "I'm sorry for what I said to you, Jaskier. You didn't deserve that."

Jaskier looks away, unsettled by the intensity of Geralt's gaze and the emotion Jaskier thinks-- no, _hopes_ , futilely-- his eyes are revealing. He grabs desperately at his resentment, shielding himself against the goodbye that he knows will follow. "You're right. I didn’t deserve it. I know I can be dense sometimes, but if you really hated being around me, you should've driven me off sooner."

"I don't hate being around you and I didn't want to drive you off," Geralt insists, moving a step closer. "Seeing you and Yen together was… hard for me. I felt like I was being torn in two by the djinn's wish, so I lashed out at you both."

A shiver travels down Jaskier's spine at the implication but he bites his tongue, refusing to let his hopes get the best of him. "What do you mean? You could've just stayed with Yennefer."

"The djinn's magic is what drew us together. I didn’t _want_ to want her. But every time I saw her, I couldn’t stay away."

"Okay, so what? What does that have to do with me?"

Geralt rakes a hand through his tangled hair, grunting in frustration when he stumbles over his words. "When you asked me to go away with you, I wanted to say yes. But it was like you and Yen both had a rope around me."

" _I_ had a rope around _you_?" Jaskier's voice is wavering out of control, rising in volume as tears prick at his eyes. "You've kept me on a leash for two decades, Geralt! I was 18 years old when we met and I desperately, _desperately_ wanted to be close to you. And you let me follow you. You said and did just enough to keep me on the hook. Well for gods' sake, I'm tired of pining over someone who doesn't want me around."

Another step closer. "I know. I know I haven't always been a good friend to you. But… I promise I will be better. I do want you around. Now more than ever."

Jaskier scoffs. "Then why didn't you try to find me after I left? I didn't see hide nor hair of you for eight months."

They're close enough now that Jaskier can see the crease between Geralt's eyebrows, and the way his yellow eyes keep drifting down to catch upon Jaskier's lips. "I was traveling across the continent looking for another djinn."

That one throws Jaskier for a loop. His breath hitches as Geralt moves another step closer, close enough to touch. "What for?"

"To undo the wish I made. To untether Yen and me," Geralt murmurs, clasping Jaskier's arm just above the elbow. "And it worked. I don't want her anymore, and she doesn't want me."

"Then… I… Then what _do_ you want, Geralt?" Jaskier asks, voice wavering, eyes wide.

"You," Geralt says, shaking him a little, as if the answer should've been obvious.

Geralt huffs in surprise when Jaskier takes him by the shirt and pushes him back against the wall of the stable until they're standing nose to nose. "Say that again."

"I want you, Jaskier," Geralt murmurs, raising a hand to touch his face. His breath is warm against Jaskier's lips. "I want you more than anything."

"You swear it?"

"I swear it."

"Then what are you waiting for?" Jaskier demands, face breaking into a grin despite his best efforts.

"Nothing, I guess," Geralt chuckles, and kisses him.

~

Eskel finds them plastered together against the side of the stables ten minutes later, and snorts. "You could at least go inside and spare the peasantry the sight of your necking."

"Shut up," Geralt growls, biting up the expanse of Jaskier's throat.

Jaskier yelps in response and blushes, trying to put together a dignified face. "Give us, um, a couple of hours, Eskel dear, and we'll come and say good--"

Jaskier's words are lost in another squawk as Geralt slings him over his shoulder and carries him inside like a sack of flour.

Eskel shakes his head, listening as Geralt's boots thud heavily up the stairs. "Well... Better late than never. Idiots."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send me your feels please ;)


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